


Red Cotton Underwear

by multifascinate (talkativelock)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Breaking and Entering, F/M, Marijuana, Name Changes, Pining, Teenage boys are idiots, attempted thievery, inaccurate depictions of drug use, the sexual thoughts of teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkativelock/pseuds/multifascinate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, before you murder me,” he says to Maka fucking Albarn because he’s still high as the moon and apparently has a deathwish, “could you put on some clothes? ‘S really distracting.”</p><p>With an angry sound that is almost a growl she grabs him by the scruff of his neck with one hand and hauls him in through the window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Cotton Underwear

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. this is stupid and i am an asshole  
> 2\. i don't know how weed actually works just how it smells  
> 3\. name change is for blackstar because it makes more sense  
> 4\. rating is to be safe in reguards to drug use and number of fuck words, not for actual acts of sex  
> 5\. generic disclaimer applies  
> 6\. no one edits my work and it may contain typos

Becoming best friends with Blake Star is probably the worst thing Soul has ever done and he regrets it so hard except for the fact that he loves the shit out of the short, blue haired moron and would die for him. With an exhale of smoke that tastes faintly of mulch Soul tells him so. Blake giggles and passes the joint back, blowing a wobbly shape that is probably supposed to be a smoke ring into the night air.

They are reclining on the roof of Blake’s house after having climbed up there to smoke weed without tipping Sid off. Blake’s guardian had gone to bed at ten but Blake didn’t want to push his luck. After all, Sid is a prevention counselor and would ground Blake until graduation if he ever found out. Not to mention that Soul wouldn’t be allowed over ever again and that would suck.

“Dude.” Blake’s voice, as always, is too loud in the night. Soul doesn’t bother to try and quiet him down. No one had ever managed to get Blake to use his inside voice, a fact that is equally hilarious and terrifying depending on your perspective. “You’re such a fucking pussy.”

Soul blinks at his best friend as he takes a drag from the lone joint they are passing between them, trying to remember what he did to be made fun of this time. It doesn’t really matter, though. It doesn’t change his response one bit.

“‘M not.”

Blake snorts. “Are too.”

“I'm not.” Soul repeats because he’s seventeen and can trade kindergarten comebacks all night if he wants to, which he might.

Blake takes the joint back from Soul’s fingers. It’s their lone joint, their last joint. Soul is almost depressed at the thought. His brother won’t be back in town for another month and Soul has no idea where to go to get weed on his own. One month of painful sobriety looms on the horizon. He shivers at the idea of facing a month straight of U.S. History without something to take the edge off.

“Dude, you make playlists.” Blake pauses to bring the weed to his lips and Soul watches the ember flare for a moment before dulling back to a faint glow. Another centimeter gone of their last joint. Tragic. “About your feelings.”

Soul shakes his head to clear it and tries to trace the conversation back to figure out why Blake was ratting on his playlist addiction this time.

“Who the hell says they’re about my feelings?”

Blake gives him a look that is almost unreadable before his hand darts out. Soul jumps and gives an undignified yelp but his hands are too slow, they always are, and he can’t stop Blake from yanking his iPod out of the front pocket of his jeans.

“Dude.” Soul tries to grab his iPod out of Blake’s fingers but his best friend is prepared for that. Soul will never understand how Blake can remain so clear headed with the weed curling around in his system. He chalks it up to Blake’s ADHD, heavy limbs for Blake Star are the same as Soul’s normal ones. “Not cool.”

Blake puts the joint in Soul’s fingers as if that’s a fair trade, which Blake should know by now really isn’t and wouldn’t stop Soul from trying to get his music back on any planet. Soul’s iPod is more important to him than the biggest bag of weed in the universe.

“You have a playlist in here named ‘My Father’s Eternal Disappointment’,” Blake reads, thumbing through his iPod with absolutely no regard for privacy, “and another one called ‘My Little Demon’. These are totally about your feelings. You’re a fucking emo ass pussy.”

Soul finally manages to snatch his precious iPod from Blake’s undeserving fingers. Blake laughs full and loud as Soul wipes the ash stains from it’s screen.

“You act cool but, dude,” Blake has that look on his face that has always meant trouble but Soul, like always, doesn’t care. Blake’s brand of trouble is usually hilarious, not to mention the added bonus of the migraines it gives Soul’s father when they eventually get caught. “You’re the kind of pussy that always picks truth instead of dare.”

Blake has a glint in his eye that looks like a challenge. Soul takes a long, steadying drag of the joint before grinning. “Why, do you have a dare in mind?”

…

Fifteen minutes after finishing off the joint Soul clings to the face of Blake’s neighbor’s house, still high off his ass and starting to regret rising to Blake’s bait. He only remembers now that while Blake’s brand of trouble is hilarious it is also a real pain in the ass with added risk of juvie for extra drama. Soul is not athletic but his fingers are strong from years playing piano and he’s pretty sure that’s the only reason he hasn’t fallen down into the bushes below yet. Instead he clings to the side of the house like he's a high, delinquent Spiderman.

Only Blake would dare someone to break into someone else’s house in the middle of the night for the express purposes of stealing a sock.

The threat of being charged with breaking and entering isn’t enough of a thrill for Soul’s fuckhead best friend though. He had to pick Maka Albarn’s house.

Maka fucking Albarn is their class’s most dangerous straight edge. Perfect grades, perfect attendance record, perfect black belt in karate, perfect desire to crush the balls of all men beneath one perfectly polished heel of her Mary Jeans. The girl is legitimately terrifying. She gives Soul a fear boner at least once a week in Pre-Calc. Somewhere on his iPod is a playlist titled ‘Why Is Your Anger So Sexy’ that is most definitely not about his feelings. 

Soul curses his pride and Blake under his breath as his tries to get a better grip on the inch of ledge that marks the very bottom of the decorative trim of Maka’s bedroom window. He tries not to bang his knees on the siding too much as he attempts to shimmy up the wall to the windowsill but he isn’t sure how successful he is.

With a heave of his shoulders and the quiet clattering of the toes of his boots against the house Soul manages to get his fingers on the windowsill, which he is relieved to note is probably a good six inches deep. He does the world’s most desperate chin up and comes face to face with dark glass.

“Motherfucker.” He hisses, pulling his elbows up on the windowsill to give his biceps a break.

Her window is closed, which he didn’t even think about when he agreed to this dare. Soul doesn’t know anything about lockpicking or jimmying the window latch or whatever skills apply to this particular window. The curtains are closed, blocking his view of Maka’s bedroom with layers of soft blue.

Soul seriously considers giving up and making his way back down the wall, going back to Blake’s house with an apologetic ‘her window was locked’ and forgetting about the whole experience. Except Soul knows that Blake would never let him forget about the time that he chickened out on a dare and proved that he was a ‘goddamn emo pussy’. For some reason his weed addled brain is convinced that there is no worse fate than Blake’s mockery, even being murdered at the hands of Maka fucking Albarn when she inevitably catches him sneaking through her bedroom window.

With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart Soul reaches out to get a grip on the sides of the window where that fancy trim frames it. He nearly falls twice but finally, with the awful clatter of his toes against the siding, he manages to hoist his knees up onto the windowsill. Sweat is making his shirt stick to his back and the balance of the new position allows him to roll his abused shoulders for a second which makes the shirt sticking sensation that much worse. Soul shakes himself slightly, like a dog, trying to unstick his shirt from his back, when in one smooth movement the curtains are pushed away and the window is thrown open.

Maka fucking Albarn stands there glaring at him with a baseball bat ready to strike. A vision of Soul’s gravestone flashes in front of his eyes reading ‘here lies Sullivan Evans, he died with an inappropriately timed boner’. Wes is going to laugh. His mother is going to cry.

Then Soul’s self preservation instinct kicks in and he cries out. “Wait!”

She stops mid swing and peers at him in the dark. She’s wearing a white camisole that is so short that it might as well be a bra and a pair of red panties that will haunt all of Soul’s future dreams, assuming he gets to sleep ever again, and nothing else. Her dirty blond hair, which Soul knows from sitting directly behind her in class is as fine as spiders silk, is pulled up into one of those messy buns girls seem to love to wear, the kind with tendrils of hair escaping to flutter about their shoulders. 

He is definitely dying with a horribly embarrassing fear boner. He hopes his parent’s don’t let Blake go to the funeral.

Soul can see the exact moment she recognizes him. Her intensely green eyes flash with surprise.

“Hey, before you murder me,” he says to Maka fucking Albarn because he’s still high as the moon and apparently has a deathwish, “could you put on some clothes? ‘S really distracting.”

With an angry sound that is almost a growl she grabs him by the scruff of his neck with one hand and hauls him in through the window.

He hits her carpet face first with a dull thwump sound. It doesn’t hurt all that bad, though that could just be the weed talking.

“What the fuck, Evans?”

He rolls over onto his back with a groan. All the muscles in his upper body are sore and he kinda hopes that she will kill him so he doesn’t have to explain his embarrassing reason for climbing to her window at 2 am on a Thursday night.

She turns on a light and he closes his eyes against the pain. “Fuck.”

Maka nudges his arm with something. It feels metallic so he assumes it’s the bat. She’s probably being threatening but he’s too tired and too high to care.

“There better be a good reason you’re trying to climb through my window on a school night.”

“I swear to god it was not my idea.”

Maka makes an irritated disbelieving noise. He cracks an eye open only to find that she’s still not wearing any fucking clothes.

Her legs look a mile long when she looms over him like that and he can see up the gap between her ribcage and her not quite shirt to the light peeking in from between her small breasts, like a tunnel to the happiest place on earth. Soul closes his eyes again and thinks very hard about his father naked.

“Jesus Christ, please put on clothing.”

He feels what is most definitely her foot on his chest and tries not to imagine the way her underwear must look from his vantage point. “Don’t be such a pervert.”

Soul tries to push her foot off his chest. His face feels hot and despite his imagination’s best efforts to stay focused on unsexy things his pants are starting to get a little tight. 

“I'm not being a pervert, you’re flashing me.”

“I would consider climbing through my window while I’m sleeping to be major pervert behavior.”

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy I was just trying to steal a sock.”

He realizes too late exactly how that sounds. He chances a glance at her, trying very hard to keep his gaze from the place between her legs it desperately wants to go. Some part of his brain that is still very high and disconnected starts thinking of songs to go in a playlist titled ‘Red Cotton Underwear’.

Maka is looking at him with suspicious, observant eyes. Soul tries to look innocent but he’s pretty sure that’s impossible while pinned on his back to her floor at 2 am on a school night after trying to sneak into her bedroom to steal a sock all while trying not to get a boner. He’s never speaking to Blake Star ever again.

“I swear I don’t have a foot fetish.” He insists at the same time that she asks him; “Are you high?”

There is a very long pause.

“I didn’t think you did.” She says very slowly. 

“I am so very, very high.” He says with much relief.

After another moment of silence she withdraws her foot and backs up from him until he can’t see up her shirt anymore, which is both a shame and very good for his boner problem. He sits up with some minor discomfort in the lower regions but at least this way he can nonchalantly cover his crotch with the careful placement of his arms.

There’s a familiar aching feeling starting in his stomach and he’s been high enough times to know the start of munchies when he feels them. If he was at Blake’s right now they would sneak to the kitchen and grab a bag of chips and go to town. In Maka’s bedroom there doesn’t appear to be any easily accessible snacks.

“Explain.”

Soul blinks up at her, trying to quench the panic. She wasn’t asking about his boner was she?

He tries for lazy and unaffected and most importantly cool but he isn’t sure how successful he is. “Explain being high?”

Maka rolls her eyes at him. “No. I don’t care about your weed, burnout. Explain the sock.”

Soul winces and and looks everywhere but her. Maka’s bedroom is painted yellow, because of course it is, and her bed and dresser are the same soft blue as her curtains. There’s a desk weighed down with a computer and three bookshelves weighed down with books. A mirror in the corner reflects his bloodshot eyes and wild white hair back at him. He looks kinda terrified and a little bit like he's blushing. Fuck.

He swallows thickly, watching his own adam’s apple bob in the mirror. “Uh, do you know Blake Star?”

Maka gives the most pained and irritated groan he’s ever heard, which is impressive because she makes irritated noises at him every day in Pre-Calc. Obviously she’s met Blake.

“It was a dare?” He offers weakly, hoping that she will take pity on him and go murder Blake instead.

“What kind of sick perverted thing does Blake Star want my sock for?” Maka demands.

“It’s nothing like that.” Soul meets her gaze and tries not to show his fear. She’s filled with a righteous anger that lights up her eyes with an inner fire. If he hadn’t had so much practice with her anger in class he might have jumped out of his skin but instead his voice stays steady, even if it does sound a little meek. “It’s just a prank to prove I’m not a pussy.”

Maka’s anger simmers down to irritation. “Breaking and entering isn’t a prank.”

“It is to Star.”

Maka groans and pinches the bridge of her nose, tilting her head back and closing her eyes to better express her frustration. Soul watches the way the movement causes the muscles in her neck to stretch with fascination. He imagines pushing his nose into her throat and worrying her skin with his teeth, her hands in his hair and his fingers running along the edges of those stupid fucking red panties. He wonders if she would moan.

She brings her chin back down and opens her eyes to look at him, breaking the spell. Soul looks away quickly and tries not to look like he was thinking about marking up the skin on her neck. He’s fairly certain he pulls it off considering he spends all of fifth period trying not to look attracted to her and she hasn’t commented on it yet.

His jeans are getting very uncomfortable. Soul tries to picture his grandmother naked but for the life of him he can’t bring up an image.

After a moment of awkward silence Maka walks over to her dresser. Soul hears a drawer open and he looks over to her in surprise only to find that the sock drawer is apparently on the bottom. Maka’s bent over with her ass in the air and if her mirror can be trusted Soul’s face matches her underwear.

“Oh my god.” He chokes out before he can stop himself. “Please tell me you’re putting on clothes.”

Maka glares at him over her shoulder before wordlessly throwing a balled up sock at his face. It hits him in the forehead before he can react.

“Tell Star that if I hear of you guys doing any more illegal pranks I’ll kill him myself.”

“Uh.” Soul says, intelligently. He doesn’t move from the ground, afraid that standing up will call attention to his very real boner problem.

Maka lifts an eyebrow at him. “Is there something else you needed, Soul?”

Soul licks his lips. “Yeah, actually. Do you have any food?”

…

Soul crawls back in through Blake’s bedroom window horrifically sober at 4:30 in the morning trying to make as little sound as possible. His feet land nearly soundlessly on the carpet and with great care Soul silently closes the window behind him.

Maka had put on a robe to go down to the kitchen, which could be seen as wonderful or terrible depending on your perspective. Soul himself is still on the fence about it. She had come back with a slice of fantastic cake which she had apparently made herself the night before. He had still been hungry so she had begrudgingly gone back to get him another one. In total Soul ate three slices of cake, one bowl of cereal, two frozen burritos, and a handful of redvines. By the end Maka had seemed more amused than irritated and they were able to have several full, meaningful conversations before the weed left his system.

For instance, Maka treats all men like dirt because her father treats all women like dirt. Her mom left Maka with her father after one too many cheating episodes when she was a kid and that really fucked her up. Soul knows what it’s like to have fucked up parents. They complained together and now she seems to view him with this newfound light. Or, at least, she doesn’t seem to hate him.

Soul lets out a breath of relief when Blake doesn’t wake up at Soul’s sneaking. Maka had told him that she knew he was coming because he made so much noise on the siding with his toes. He can’t help but be pleased he that he didn’t repeat the mistake.

Then the light turns on. Soul gives a very short, very cool, very manly scream.

“What the fuck, dude, I thought you died.”

Blake is pointing at Soul accusingly. Soul is dragging in lungfuls of air, one hand over his heart to try and keep it from escaping his chest.

“I did, you just killed me.”

Blake scowls at him and walks over, thumping him on the shoulder when he gets there. Soul discretely rubs the site of his new bruise. “Don’t be such a pussy.”

Soul grins, slow and wide. “I’m not.”

Then, with only a little flourish, Soul pulls Maka fucking Albarn’s left sock out from his back pocket. Blake’s eyes go wide.

“Dude!”

Soul feels kinda like an idiot holding a sock aloft like a sword so he lets his arm fall down to his side. Blake watches the sock fall like it’s a mythical object capable of granting fame and fortune, which is stupid. It’s just a sock not lingerie. Soul lets his mind drift back to Maka’s red cotton underwear and it’s probable magical properties.

“Slow clap it out for Soul Evans, dude with balls of iron.” Blake says and then he does just that, bringing his hands together in four slow claps that echo around Blake’s bedroom. 

Soul rolls his eyes, keeping cool, but he is rather pleased with himself. All in all, he had a great night. He completed Blake’s most impossible dare and started making friends with Maka fucking Albarn. Maybe she would skip senior prom with him.

“How’d you pull it off?” Blake asks.

Soul laughs. “It was easy." Well, kinda, but he wasn't about to tell Blake that. He puts the sock back in his pocket and shakes his head at his best friend. "But dude. No more illegal pranks.”

Blake scoffs and starts heading back to the light switch. "Yeah, right." 

Soul pulls out his iPod. There are at least five songs that need to go in a playlist called ‘Red Cotton Underwear’ right now and he's pretty sure he can find at least ten more before dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sorry


End file.
